Our Name Is Alexander Hamilton
by Author Pendragon Of Camelot
Summary: Who was Alexander Hamilton? Everyone knew someone different. A loudmouth immigrant? The whore's son from the Caribbean? A non-stop bastard? A friend? An enemy? A lover? He's all of them, but never at the same time. With an abusive father, a mother that died before he was thirteen, and a cousin who committed suicide not weeks after living with him, who wouldn't be fractured? MPD/DID
1. Prologue

**A/N: Sorry, I accidentally** **uploaded** **chapter 2 twice. H** **ere's** **the actual prologue! :P**

Alexander Hamilton.

Who was Alexander Hamilton?

An immigrant bastard form the Caribbean? A loudmouth soldier who didn't know when to hold his tongue? The whore's son with too much power for his own good? To some, he was one of America's founding fathers, someone to be respected. To a few others, he was a thorn in their side, an inconvenience. He was the non-stop, brave, romantic, sarcastic, hot-headed immigrant he had always been.

But never at the same time.

Everyone thought they knew him. His mother and father, Washington, Laurens, Lafayette, Mulligan, even Jefferson and Burr. But how could anyone hope to understand him when Alex didn't even know himself?


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story will contain sore and potentially triggering subjects. There is physical abuse, sexual abuse (but not in detail), suicide (from his cousin, none of the main characters), and death (of his mother). I suggest you turn back now if any of these things will affect you, but I'll post warnings up before anything of the kind happens just in case.**

 **I'm not trying to put you off, it also contains friendship, angst, and possibly future romance! Just need to make sure you're all okay with everything else that will be featured, primarily in the first few chapters. Don't be put off if it gets too dark at first, because it has to be bad before it gets fluffier! :P**

Alex was four years old when his world turned upside down. It started when his mother started inviting other men into their home. Alex didn't really understand what went on after she took the man into her room and shut the door, but was told to stay away from it while she was in there.

"Alexander, honey," she said one day, holding hands with a dark haired man. He was very tall and had dirty looking clothes on. "This kind man and I are going to be busy for a while. Don't come near my bedroom, okay?"

"What are you doing in there?" Alex asked innocently.

The man blushed and looked away but his mother just smiled. "Very important taxes, sweetheart, but if you come in, we won't be able to concentrate and that would be very bad." As she was walking away hand in hand with the dark-haired man, she turned. "And don't tell your father!"

She slammed the door.

Alexander shrugged, sitting down on their ripped armchair and started reading a book he had found on a shelf which was starting to rot and fall down, sagging with the weight of the tomes. Most of the furniture in his house was showing signs of rot. the kitchen table, he was pretty sure, had woodworm.

His mother was teaching Alex to read, and he was getting rather good. He recognised all the letters and mostly knew what combination made what words, and he was excellent at working out what the really long ones were. He knew he could be even better, but his mother hadn't been teaching him as often anymore, she preferred staying in her room, often with a man. She always told him she was doing taxes. Alex knew that that was to do with money, and he knew money was very important and that they didn't have very much of it, so he left them to it.

A short while later, Alex heard a key turning in the lock. It must be his father! Finally, someone to talk to. The book he was reading was very dull.

James Hamilton walked into the small room, a grave expression on his face.

"Father! What's wrong?" Alex asked, recognising that all was not well.

"I'm not going to lie to you son," James said with a sigh. "The shop's gone under, everyone but the very best workers have been fired 'cos the boss can't pay us. Nothing to worry about though," he added seeing his son's crestfallen face. "We don't need money. Your mother and I love each other and that's enough. Speaking of your mother, where is she?"

Alex didn't answer. He looked at his feet, remembering her words. Don't tell your father.

"Son?"

feeling conflicted, he shrugged. She told him not to tell. But it was his father! and they were only doing taxes!

"Son, where is your mother?" He frowned, sounding more urgent.

"She told me not to tell," He whispered.

"It's okay, I won't tell her you told me," he promised.

Alexander nodded. "She's doing taxes in her room."

To anyone else, this would have been fine. But James knew that it was the excuse she used when they were going to-

Shit.

"This is important, Alex. Was she with anyone?"

"Yes, a man!" Alex smiled, happy to be helping his father, all guilt gone. His four-year-old brain might have been big, but it couldn't comprehend why his father's face darkened at the information. His smile dimmed. "Father?"

"Wait here, Alexander," he said as he went into the room he shared with his wife.

Alex wasn't entirely sure what went on in there. He heard a shriek, then yelling - so much yelling. He couldn't tell what it was that they were saying, it was too muffled, but he knew it wasn't good.

A man came flying out of the room, he looked like he had been pushed. He ran from the house, bare-chested, not sparing a glance behind him. Alex was shocked. Had his dad shoved him out?

Next, his mother came out, half dressed, apologetic. She looked a mess.

"You're pathetic," his father spat from behind her, face an angry shade of red.

"Please don't go!" She cried as her husband pushed past her violently and stormed down the hall. "I'm sorry! I know we're having money troubles, I was trying to help!"

"Well stop trying!" He picked up his coat and angrily shrugged it on. " I thought you loved me!"

His mother was getting more and more desperate, sobbing through her words. "I do! Please don't leave! James! James! Think about Alex!"

James looked at Alexander, seeming to notice him for the first time. His son. Poor, innocent Alex. This isn't his fault, he thought.

But it was, wasn't it? Before Alexander came along, they were happy. They had enough money to live on, even rented a little house. Then Rachel started vomiting, and they had called a doctor. They had been able to afford a doctor! He told them that she was pregnant, and it was one of the happiest days of their lives. Or it was.

They had to spend all their savings on the baby. They were already broke, and it hadn't even been born yet. Alexander came into the world and had all that he needed; toys, a bed, a whole room to himself, and parents that loved him. Any extra pennies that they came upon was spent on Alex.

So, yes, it was his fault.

Alex was scared. No other word for it. He didn't know what to do. His parents were fighting and he couldn't understand why. Was it his fault? If he'd only have kept the secret his mother had entrusted him with, they'd all be happy, maybe helping Alex with his writing. But now, James Hamilton stared at him, face softening. Maybe he would be the glue that could hold their relationship together.

But then his eyes narrowed dangerously and a sneer formed on his lips. "To hell with Alex," he hissed, and left, slamming the door so hard it was a wonder it wasn't ripped from its hinges.

His mother fell to her knees and put her head in her hands, sobbing. Alexander ran to her, tears falling down his face. he didn't understand what was going on.

Mother and son held each other until the sun came up.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: This chapter contains physical abuse. If that could be potentially triggering, turn back!**

James Hamilton didn't return for two days. It was two days of misery. Rachel moped around the house, hardly bothering to cook for any of them. Alex was starving, and he knew his mother must have been too.

Rachel stayed in bed almost all day, getting up to use the bathroom only when it was absolutely necessary. She didn't sleep. Whenever Alexander looked round her door, she was lying down, staring at the roof. It worried Alex. He needed his father back. He'd know how to fix this.

That was when he heard the key in the lock. His eyes widened, and he ran to the door, away from his mother with her dead eyes.

James stumbled into the house, stinking of beer and vomit. Alex was repulsed by the stench.

"Son!" He slurred. "This is-" he hiccupped, "all your fault!" He stumbled to the holey sofa and all but fell into it. When he was drunk, his scottish accent was very distinguishable. He tended to use a lot more slang that Alex wasn't familiar with, but could work out."If you hadn'ae come along and taken all my money, we'd be fine, your mother and I!"

Alexander froze. So it was his fault? He had been telling himself that he was the cause for days, but to hear it out loud... Well, it hurt, simply put. It was like a slap to the face for the child.

What was even more like a slap in the face, however, was the punch he got right in the cheek.

It wasn't very hard - Alex was sure it must have been accidental. His father simply wouldn't do that on purpose. He loved him!

But did he? Now he came home stinking of alcohol and blaming Alex for it all, did he love him? Surely he must.

Alex burst into tears, both from the shock of the blow and his conflicting feelings. It was all too much for his four-year-old brain to handle,

"Shaddap", his father hissed. This only made the child cry more. "Fer fucks sake, son!"

The noise had attracted Rachel out of her room. "James?" She whispered. "I didn't think you'd come back!"

"Well where else was I fuckin' gonna go?" He demanded with a heavy accent.

Rachel just laughed and ran to him, the most alive she had been in days. She seemed not to notice her sniffing son not a meter away.

But her face fell when he shoved her away. "James?"

"Fuck off," he slurs. "You fuckin' cheated on me!"

Alexander recognised the foul words and was shocked that his dad would use such phrases. Wasn't he the one that said that those words were forbidden?

"James, not this again, please!"

"Yes, this a-fuckin'-gain! You _slept_ wi' my _mate_ from _work!_ "

"He was _paying me!_ We need as much help as we can get, James!"

"An' who's fault is _that?_ If you didnae go around wastin' yer money on _this_ brat, we'd be fine!"

This made Alex start to cry more, and his mother came and put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "He's our _son_!"

"Yeah, and you go 'round buying 'im everythin' you see! We'd be better off without 'im!"

Rachel stepped forwards and held James's shoulders, staring deep into his eyes. What she saw scared her more than what happened next. There was no warmth, no trace of the happiness that had once graced his features. There was only anger and darkness. "You don't mean that!"

But she wasn't so sure.

He shoved her off, pushing her with such force she fell to the floor. "Aye ah fuckin' do! An I'd be better off without you, too!"

Rachel always thought his accent was sexy and cute. Now it was just terrifying. He slowly stepped towards her, meaningfully, a menacing expression on his face.

"James..." She shuffled backwards as he advanced "James, please..." Her back met the wall. "James! Stop this!"

"You've been cheatin' on me for god knows how long," he said, the darkness she found in his eyes pouring out of his mouth in the form of vile words and threats. "I'm gonnae fuckin' kill you!"

"James! James, _stop!_ You're _scaring me!"_

 _"Good."_

He punched her - not the kind of punch he threw at Alexander earlier - that had been quite light and wasn't likely to even leave much of a mark. No, this punch was the kind that could break noses. And it did. With a sickening crunch, Rachel felt a crack. She lifted a hand to touch her face, and was horrified to find it dripping with blood. At first it was numb, then the white-hot pain got through. She screamed as James kicked her. In the ribs, the stomach, the back... Rachel curled up into a ball, screaming and crying, until she passed out.

Alex stood in shock against the wall. He had fallen down. He didn't remember how he got there.

He was numb. Silent tears poured down his cheeks. A feeling akin to horror twisting in his stomach as his father turned. The blood... so much blood. On James' hands, his boots, the floor, his mother's face...

That kind of trauma wouldn't fade from any child's mind, and certainly not Alexander's.

His father stepped towards Alex, eyes full of loathing. His mother had begged, pleaded. Alex was too shocked to even think straight.

 _Don't beat me, please don't kill me,_ were his only thoughts.

As if James had heard, he said "Don't worry, I've got somethin' else in mind for yeh..." He pulled a poker from the hot flames of the hearth, and Alex began to tremble.

When Alexander was three, he fell and skinned his knees. To the toddler, it was the worst pain imaginable.

Now he knew how wrong he had been.

 _Help me, help me, help me._

The searing pain in his back was worse than anyone could have ever imagined. The sheer intensity of the heat paired with the alien look in his father's eyes was enough to make anyone scream.

 _Help me help me help me!_

James beat the child with the red hot stick of steel, letting the metal linger on his son's back until he was shaking.

 _Helpmehelpmehelpme-_

He couldn't cope. No one could help him. Alex screamed until his voice was horse. Until the pain became so bad it hardly even registered as pain.

Nobody could cope like this.

Rejecting the pain and terror his father was inflicting, he cut himself off from the horror. His mind fractured. Broke off from the rest.

Became someone else.

His world would never be the same.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: No physical abuse shown, but a bloody scene. Probably not worth noting, but just in case.**

This was how his life would be for the rest of his days, Alex thought, months later, sitting in his room. he rarely left. his father wouldn't let him.

Whenever he went to work, he locked Alex and his mother in their bedrooms like unruly teenagers. They were left there hours, sometimes more. Once, he went out drinking and passed out in the pub. He forgot about them and left them for two days.

There was no food or water during those times, those long hours every day. When he was let out, Alex would get big bowls of water and hide them under his bed so he wouldn't die.

They had come close before.

When he was out of his room, which was really very rarely, he read. He wasn't getting lessons any more, there was no time for that. Most people his age were at school already, getting tutored, and playing on the beach.

Not Alex.

He was locked away to play games with himself.

He had a few toys from when he was younger, but not much else. Luckily, had a huge imagination.

He picked up a chunk of wood from the floor. It became a carriage before his eyes - bright and beautiful, not a scratch on it. He held it up against a badly carved horse. His dad had made it for him when he was a baby. The plain wood changed before him into a sleek, deep brown coat. It's mane was the softest thing you had ever seen.

He began playing a game with all his toy soldiers (sticks he found in the garden a long time ago), forming two troops, making the two sides wage war on each other. the carriage and horse took the wounded to and from the hospital, fixing them up as it went by tying pieces of string around them like bandages...

Alex played this game for hours and hours. It was the most interesting that happened in his life.

Or so he thought.

You see, Alex really believed that he lived in his room, only leaving to read new books and gather new sticks for soldiers. But that was far from the truth.

A year ago, Alex's mind split, unable to cope with the pain his father inflicted on him. But now Alex had no memory of the attack. That was the information that was hidden from him by the new section.

The section had its own name, its own personality, its own memories. And none of them were positive.

The personality came out whenever he was in danger; or believed himself to be. He was a terrified four year old; screaming, crying, no different from _that_ night. He didn't age, didn't change, and when he wasn't needed, he shrank away into his own mind and let Alex back out.

Alex created him so he wouldn't have to remember. So now he doesn't.

He has no idea what goes on when his father gets home from work; how he comes in always drunk, always in a rage. He came in and beat his wife, slapped his son, neglected them, locked them away again for later.

Alex was beaten less than his mother, not that he remembered any of it anyway. james sometimes let Rachel out of her bedroom, to cook him meals and clean up her own blood from the night before. To ensure she stayed inside, he threatened her, told her exactly what he would do when he caught her again, told her that if she left, he would kill Alexander.

In return for staying, Rachel only asked for her son to be spared the violence he demonstrated on her.

She was mostly successful. But sometimes, when Rachel passed out too quickly and James still hd energy left, there was nothing stopping him from dragging his son out to look at his mother's lifeless body and beating him. "You deserve this, son!" He screamed. That was why the personality assumed it was named Son.

It was Son who took the beatings. Under high stress, fear or pain, he would come and cower, protecting Alex from his own father.

This went on for months - a loop of being locked away, beaten and starved, then locked up again. Son stayed out until the pain that lingered was mostly gone. Alex just thought he had a really bad bed and a stiff back brom sitting on the floor all day. There were no mirrors, so he couldn't see the scars that remained on his back, even years later.

One day, his father came into his room, demanding not for him to come with him and 'grab the belt on your way past', but to come and clean the house.

He dusted the shelved, stocked the fire, picked up the objects lying on the floor and swept up broken glass that had been broken during his father's last drunken rage. A little while later, he was called into his mother's room to clean up after her most recent battering.

"Coming, father!" He called, picking up the sponge he was using to wipe the floors with, prepared to clean another room. It was better than sitting in his room all day.

What he was not prepared for was the sight that met him when he opened the door.

Blood everywhere. The carpet, the walls, the bed... The stench was everywhere, it seemed to seep into Alex's brain, making him feel faint. There was a foot sticking out from behind the bed, and he knew just who's unconscious form it was.

"If you cry, I will make sure there's something to cry about," James growled, gesturing for him to start cleaning.

Alex stood, frozen, fighting for calm. He could feel Son just at the front of his mind, so, so close. But he couldn't give in to the fear. He had to make his father proud. But how could he clean up his own mother's blood?

Torn between crying, screaming and running, he did what he had learned to do many months before.

He split off a chunk of his mind again.

It would be the part of him to deal with any situation where he would rather run. It became his obedience.

The personality came forward, locking away the memories.

"Come on, get cleaning like the little housewife I know you are," James said.

The personality decided then and there that it must be a girl, and chose the name June for herself.

"Now!"

She knelt by the door, picked up her sponge and started scrubbing.


	5. Chapter 4

Alex and his mother had a considerably calmer life after that. Alex was taught lessons by his mother again, who was shocked to find how advanced the eleven-year-old boy had become in his studies.

As James said, it was a matter of days before they started to struggle for money. His mother worked in a shop but the pay from that was hardly enough for both of them. She was paid less than all the other workers; who were more experienced men.

She knew she would have to get more money from somewhere, and remembered what she did many years ago when they were short. The very action that led to James becoming the abusive man they knew.

Rachel came home from work with a man, headed straight to the bedroom and quickly explained to Alex, "we're doing very important things in there, so don't come in!"

"Oh, is it taxes?" Alex asked sarcastically.

His mother's eyes widened and she opened her mouth, but no sounds came out.

"Relax," he added, taking pity on her. "I'll stay in my room." He picked up his book and made his way to his bedroom, intending to try and ignore the events that were inevitably going to take place in the room next door.

Five minutes later, the faint sounds of Moaning and gasping came floating through the thin drywall separating the rooms. Alex scrunched his face up in disgust. He didn't need to hear that! It was his mother in there!

Hiding his head under the sheets, he put his fingers in his ears, but it didn't help. After a second or two, he heard a feminine cry of "harder!" and almost threw up on the spot.

Deciding there and then that he couldn't stay in the house with them, he went to sit in the garden with his book.

This became an almost nightly activity. Every day, a new man came in. Sometimes it was one he had seen before. Some of them smiled at him as he rushed outside to avoid any possible images that his brain might conjure up, or any sounds that may escape the walls. Some of them ignored him as Rachel ushered them toward her room. None made any efforts to communicate. It was weird, talking to the child of the woman they were about to screw.

Rachel knew the situation wasn't ideal in any way, but also made sure her son knew why she was doing what she did, to keep food on their plates and a roof on their heads. She made decent money, enough for the pair to live on, not much extra.

For Alexander's twelfth birthday, she bought him a think leather-bound notebook and an inky black pen. They had cost her almost everything she had, but it was worth it to see his face light up with joy as he wrapped his arms around her and ran to his room to start writing in it.

It was about a month later that she started coughing. She developed a fever and Alex worried about her all day. He couldn't afford a doctor, and as his mother got sicker and sicker, he couldn't afford much else either.

She resiliently kept going to work. She brought men home, though less and less often as the week went on. Her previous nightly activities soon dwindled to nothing.

Alex finally stopped her from leaving the house when she nearly fainted in the doorway.

"For God's sake, mother, _please_ sit down and rest!

" I can't!" She said before dissolving into a coughing fit. "We _need_ money!"

"Mother, you can hardly stand, you've not been eating, you _cannot_ go to work! Please stay home and look after yourself!"

Rachel bit her lip, looking from the door to her son. He gazed at her with sad, pleading eyes until she gave in.

"Fine-" she forced out before she started coughing so badly she almost vomited. "Only for a day."

It was three days before Rachel was well enough to even eat without throwing up.

She was much better after a week, though they were almost completely out of money. Alex was surviving mostly on their own crops outside. He gave up much of his food to his mother, knowing she had to get stronger before she would be able to return to work.

Two days later, and Rachel finally felt up to leaving the house. She knew how desperate they were getting, and if she stayed home a day longer, she would likely lose her job, and then they would descend even further into poverty.

Rachel came back to work, she hid her illness well and nobody could really tell she had anything wrong with her at all. Little did they know, during her lunch break, she stayed in the bathroom and vomited, unable to keep her food down.

She didn't bring anyone home that night, she was still weak, but if she kept going to work, they might be able to stay off the streets.

A week later, Rachel was completely better again. Men came back with her every night once more, and Alex spent much more time reading outside again.

However, that night he developed a high fever, and started coughing. He had developed the illness that his mother had only just gotten over.

Luckily, he knew it wasn't fatal, as proven by his mother. So he tried to hide it from her, lest she worried.

This plan failed within the next two days, as Alex had a huge coughing fit and threw up his last meal.

"Oh honey," his mother sympathised, and she got him a warm lemon drink to soothe his aching throat.

He got considerably worse, and his mother looked after him. She couldn't take time off work, Alex understood, but she refrained from bringing people back with her.

Alex was almost as bad as she had been the week before, and Rachel's sickness seemed to have returned to her, but ten times worse.

she dissolved into a hacking cough and terrified Alex when she brought her hand from her mouth to reveal dark red blood.

 _Oh my god_ , he thought. His mother was _really_ sick. She took yet more time off of work, and the next day received a letter notifying her that her position in the shop had been revoked, and she could collect her things whenever she felt up to it.

Rachel hid in her room and began to cry, as she sprayed her sheets with the blood she had coughed up.

She immediately knew, as she vomited into the bucket at her side, that she wasn't going to recover from this.


	6. Chapter 5

**A.N: Thanks to the reviewer who pointed out I had posted the same chapter three times! (I don't even know how I managed that.) Have a chapter early as a 'sorry' gift!**

Alexander's health quickly deteriorated. Before two days had passed, he and his mother lay in bed together unable to move. None of them ate. They barely drank. There was nobody to look after them. Neither of them had any friends that would think to check on their absence.

They were alone.

Growing weaker and weaker by the day, his mother knew she'd have to explain to Alex that she wasn't going to last much longer. She would likely die within the day. Alex was weak, but much stronger than she was, she had faith that he would make it through this.

"Alex..." she rasped, "I... need you to... remember something..."

"Mother?" He prompted when she didn't elaborate.

"I... I love you so, so... much. I'm sorry I... couldn't provide you... a better life..."

"Mother-"

"I'm sorry about... James," she said the name as if it physically pained her, and it did. Every breath she took was full of hurt and fear. Not fear for herself, but for her child.

"No, that wasn't your fault," Alex said softly.

"It was. I shouldn't have... married him," she said before descending into the biggest coughing fit she had had in a while. Too weak to lift her hand to cover her mouth, the blood splattered the blanket. It scared Alex, as he realised she was saying goodbye.

"Mother, please..."

"No, Alex... Just... remember I love you. And... when I'm gone-"

"You won't-"

"When I'm gone," she repeated more forcefully, "You need to give this... to the man at the docks." She handed him a crumpled letter that she had written the night before. "Then... You do what he says... okay?"

"Yes, of course, but you're not-"

"I am, son," she interjects. "But that's... okay. I don't have long-" she coughed again as if to punctuate her point.

"Mother," Alex whispered, tears rolling down his sunken cheeks. "I love you..."

She stroked his cheek, using the last of her energy up to utter her last words. "My... son... Be brave..."

Alexander started sobbing, holding his mother close to his chest. how could she leave him!? He had no one else! His father left, now his mother was-

He choked out a heartbreaking sob. Why did everyone he loved leave!?

 _Everyone who loves me is gone_.

Love only gets you hurt. Love was for romantic sissies with more hearts than brains.

With that new realisation, he broke.

So, the alter Carys was born. She lay in her dead mother's arms, and cried for her. Alex wouldn't accept love again. But Carys would.

A day and a half later, Alex came out again, and assumed he must have fallen asleep, although he still felt exhausted. He felt his mother's cold form and his tear-streaked cheeks. He felt oddly numb as he realised...

He couldn't move. Why should he? He had no reason to. He had no reason to do anything anymore.

'Be brave', his mother told him.

But he was scared. He was so scared.

There was nothing to get up for. Nothing to do. No one to speak to. Nobody would be there to cook for him, to hold him when he was upset, to read to him at night.

He couldn't be brave.

Oh, how he wished he was brave. He used to be. His father beat it out of him, though Alex didn't remember that. He had pushed bravery away, not even realising it. And at this moment, he needed it. He needed it so badly, that he ached for it. But he just couldn't muster up the courage to find it, telling himself that there was no point.

He unconsciously split his mind again, creating a personality that could be brave, that could handle the situation he was facing.

The new boy called himself Castiel, recognising it as the name of a powerful angel. For that was what he was there for. To be powerful and strong when Alexander couldn't be.

And right now, he had a letter to deliver.


	7. Chapter 6

**Please ask if you have any questions concerning DID, I'd be glad to answer. It can be a very complex thing, and when I'm writing I accidentally assume everybody is an expert on the matter and don't explain anything. I'll try to be as clear as possible, but seriously, ask!**

Castiel packed a bag - he knew that they wouldn't be returning. It didn't hold much, just a couple of changes of clothes and the little badly carved horse his dad had made him, for purely sentimental reasons. Cas didn't want to take it, but felt the Others might appreciate the sentiment.

He also took as much food as he could fit from the garden, a couple of coconuts, some bananas and papayas. He left the potatoes, having no way to cook them. He also took a knife, just in case, and a photograph of his mother. He left the one with his father in it, knowing what he was like. He had no memories of his father's beatings, but had a vague idea, enough to know that he was a horrible man.

Looking once more around his dark, small house, Cas sighed and turned away, never to look back.

He easily found the docks and the man he assumed he was to speak to. He was a large bearded man, wearing a simple shirt and trousers with a blue jacket. He looked kind.

"Excuse me, sir," Cas said politely.

"Hello, son! What brings you here?" He said in a deep, gruff voice with an accent he couldn't quite place.

"My mother, she... she asked me to give you this." Handing over the sealed envelope, he stepped back and waited for the man to read it.

His face turned from jolly, to serious, to sad, then to pitying in the minutes it took to read the note. Cas shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He hated pity.

"I'm so sorry," he said, eyes sad. "Rachel was a lovely woman..."

With that, Cas withdrew from their shared body, and Alexander came back, very confused. Where was he?

The man was going on about someone, someone "sweet and kind". Alex quickly interrupted. "I'm sorry," he began. "But... Who are you?"

"Sorry," the man said, shaking his head. "You won't want to talk about it. I'm Davie, the Dockmaster. You must be Alexander. Look, there's a cargo ship leaving in ten minutes, I'll put you on that."

"Where am I going?" Alex asked, understanding that he must have given the letter to the man that his mother had spoken about. Now he was up and moving, he wasn't so mournful. He felt stronger somehow.

"Rachel didn't tell you? ...Of course not. Sorry." He apologised a lot, Alex thought to himself. "Its an island not too far away, only a day's travel. You're to stay with your cousin, Peter. You know him?" Alex shook his head. "Peter Lytton, it says here. Well, I'll send one of my blokes with you to explain when you get there, he'll help you find the right place. You got everything you need? Good."

He ushered him onto a large supply ship, where he beckoned over a tall, lean man with blonde hair.

"Sam! This is Alexander Hamilton, would you mind taking him to this address when you get to the island? The letter will explain."

"Sure," the man said simply.

"Make sure he's fed, he looks very skinny. When did you last eat, son?"

Alex squirmed at the word 'son' and shrugged. He couldn't remember, but it must have been that long ago; he felt fine.

"I'll make sure he has something," Sam said, as Davie patted Alex on the back. he gave him one last pitying glance before turning and getting back off the boat.

"We'd better be off then," Sam told him, as he headed off to start the ship.


	8. Chapter 7

Sam had looked after him and took him to his cousin's house. It was a huge place, two stories high, and at least twelve times the size of Alex's own home.

Though it wasn't his home now, was it? This was.

Assuming his cousin took him in.

Sam walked him up the path leading to the front door. The house was so big, that it had double doors and a porch. The grassy garden was full of flowers and trees, and perfectly trimmed. It was huge.

Sam knocked on the door, and Alex suddenly felt very anxious. What if he didn't want him? Nobody else did, after all. He considered making a run for it before Peter came to the door. It was quite late, would he even be up?

He blinked, and suddenly Castiel was Out. He felt it was getting too overwhelming for Alex to handle.

Just then, the door opened to reveal a brunette man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. He was muscled and looked very serious. He smiled at them both quizzically, which broke that idea somewhat.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes," Sam said. "This is Alexander Hamilton."

"Ah, a Hamilton!" He said, recognising the name. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, his mother passed away not too long ago, and it was a written request from her that you take her child in."

Peter frowned. "What of his father?"

"He left," Cas told him, "when I was ten."

"What are you now, eleven?"

"Nearly thirteen, sir," Cas replied, hiding a frown. He didn't like Peter. He didn't know why, he just had a hunch that he wasn't who he seemed.

"And he has no one else?"

"No," Sam said firmly.

Castiel was worried for a minute that he was going to be turned away. Peter seemed very reluctant to offer his home to the orphaned boy.

"I have nowhere else to go," he said and looked at his feet sadly. It was an act. He hoped that Peter would take pity and allow him entry. He really didn't know what to do if he turned him away.

Peter bit his lip, then sighed. "I suppose you must stay here, then."

No need to sound so pleased about it, Cas thought, internally rolling his eyes. He just hoped that his cousin would be more welcoming once he was actually living there.

"Do you want to bring your things in?"

"This is it," Cas said, patting his bag.

"Oh? Okay. You'd better come in then!"

"Bye, Alex," Sam said.

"Goodbye. Thanks for bringing me up here. I know you didn't have to." He was grateful that he had. God knows how they would have found the right place, if not.

"Not a problem. Good luck!"

Then Peter shut the door.

"Okay, squirt," he said, smile falling from his face. "I'm tired. Before you came, I was about to go to bed. So, your room can be the one up the stairs, second door to the right. It's a guest one, but I'll be generous and let you have it."

He didn't really have much of a choice, did he? unless he thought they would be sleeping on the sofa. Castiel really didn't like the feel of this man. He withdrew from their body and allowed Alexander to come back out.

"Before I go; Quick list of rules. One; do as I say. Two; don't go into rooms that aren't yours. The living room and the kitchen are the only places you're allowed. And the bathroom. There's one at the end of the hall, and another on the bottom floor. you'll find it. And three; don't bother me. Got it?"

"Um, yes," Alex said uncertainly. These memory blanks were getting silly.

"Off you go then! Second on the right!"

Alex hurried up the dark wooden stairs and located what he assumed must have been his room. It had white walls and plain wooden floorboards. The bed was very big - it was a double one. He had an oak wardrobe and a comfy looking armchair in the corner. The best thing, however, was the small bookshelf against the wall. He smiled and gravitated towards them.

There were about thirty, and he betted he'd be able to get through them all fairly quickly. He hoped there were more somewhere, perhaps a library. The place was big enough. It had _two_ bathrooms!

He considered reading one right then, but decided he'd wait. Pulling the notepad his mother had given him out of his bag (That he didn't remember packing), he began to write about his day.

He wrote about how he found himself at the dockyard, about how Sam had taken him to his own room below the deck and let him sleep in his bed, while he took the sofa. It was the nicest thing anyone had done in a while, and Alex felt guilty about it, but the man had insisted.

he wrote about his first impressions of Peter, and from what he knew, he was reluctant to let him stay, and would likely be quite strict, since he's not allowed in any of the other rooms.

Sighing, Alex put away the journal, and climbed into the soft bed. It was the comfiest thing he had ever lay down on, and it had a thick, warm blanket on it.

He would unpack what he had tomorrow. But now, he was already asleep.


	9. Note (sorry)

**A/N: Okay guys, problem. I'm having some difficulties with the plot and content, mostly to do with this story being set in the past. I was wondering if there are too many references to this being set in a different time period to suddenly switch, but i don't think I can keep going with where it's set.** **I'm a little annoyed, because I've written a lot of chapters already that I've not even posted yet, and i'd have to delete them.** **Here are your options:**

 **1\. I just start writing in modern day America and pretend it was always mean to be like that.**

 **2\. I go through it and change bits to make it seem like it was my plan all along.**

 **3\. Delete the story and start again (but it would start off very similar).**

 **4\. Post the chapters I've written and just make a new story set in modern day America.**

 **It's up to you, folks! (sorry for any disappointment I've caused).**


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